Windbourne Chronicle
by Neil - k s c
Summary: Windbourne Chronicle is a Guild Wars 2 fan fiction within the world of Tyria, following the chance and commitments of Gus as he ventures into an awareness he'll never return from. **Updated on tumblr :
1. The Coming Home Chapter (1,2)

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_The Coming Home Chapter_

_1_

The wrapping crumpled at the edges and it was obvious to him that something soft was folded inside. He grinned, shaking his head. Turning over a ticket tied to the package, the grin faded a little as eyes fell over a scribbled message, and thoughts gazed into past crumples where grins were less…

…

"Pus! Give that to me," insisted a fat bully between spittle and clenched teeth; his two oafs protruding behind him, sniggering at the intimidated bent figure sat in the shadows of this alleyway.  
Bully shot out a fist into the figure and it splayed its body. With a tremble, the figure spoke a solidary word: "No…" But with a swipe of his paw Bully took what he wanted.  
The wrapping crumpled around his grip as Bully ripped into it, ultimately discarding the wrapper aside.  
Straightening legs slowly, the figure showed half-way into the day's sun: a small, crooked boy shielding an arm, stood for a moment before he was shoved back into the shadows.  
Bully flung his prize upwards; a colourfully red garment stitched with the white lettering of a name: Gus.  
Bully laughed and attempted to rip at it, but the fabric held. Breathlessly he threw the garment to his oafs, who committed to treading it into the ground. The three of them swung around, kicking the garment with them as they left Gus sniffing and weeping in his darkness.  
Tears dried after he caught his breath. Gus had wanted to enjoy his birthday gift alone. A gift from his loving parents, placed out for him this morning at the end of his bed, for when he awoke.  
He collected the wrapping, folded it, and placed it between the belt of his pants, before raising to see, an arm covered in welts – scars burnt into him at a time too young to recall.  
Gus took a few aimless steps, thought of home, and immediately ran angrily anywhere but. A brief, fierce wind blew up from behind him.

…

Grousing loud, a bird flew between the puffy white clouds over his head, disturbing crumples of remembrance. Watching, he followed the bird until the sun defended it, where he shot away to look over fields of vegetables around him whilst an orange-green blear faded from his eyes. The bird sounded again, and memories found there way back to his mind's gaze…

…

Sleep troubled Gus as guilt wrung inside him for loosing his gift. Stirred, the loud grouse from a bird woke him for the last countless time. A sun, low and fresh, hung itself between two neighbouring rooftops.  
Gus crept into his clothes and out of his home. He must get it back; find it. Searching without luck through the alleyways, it took him until mid-day to garner the courage to walk out from the city walls of Divinity's Reach to pursue further.

Taking short, quick steps, without letting fears be chief of his thoughts, Gus heard snorts of laughter just as he came to round a cornered wall of a farmer's home. Here he found Bully stuffing pies, sat with his oafs atop a straw roof looking down on a hen pen.  
"Pus, you skinny wretch," belched Bully.  
"Give it back!" Gus blurted as a stone, thrown at him from above, bounced from the ground and struck his leg.  
Bully was retrieving stones from the depths of his pockets and threw them casually towards Gus, who panicked. One hit him hard on the forehead. Whiteness flashed at the edges of his vision, stunning him. Then came a thud as an elbow hit him in the spine, buckling him over towards the ground. Dirt scraped upwards into his nails as hands went out to catch the fall. Gus breathed deep fearful lungs of dust, coughed violently, and took a mouthful of earth as Bully pushed a fat club into the back of his head.  
Rolling to one side and reaching blindingly upwards, Gus scrambled. Only to come standing right in front of Bully and his boys.  
Making a snap turn, Gus felt a snatch at his arm and saw a pie tumble to the ground.  
"Ulg! Burnt pussy arm!" Bully spat disgustedly before letting go in painful reaction to being kicked in the shin.  
Gus ran with dread enfeebling his lungs and quivering his legs, he about managed to climb the fence to a vegetable field before he was sharply caught by a rock, which cut into the back of his leg. Red blotted through his clothing and Gus fell.  
Hands and arms pinned him onto his back. A spray of a watering contraption centred in the field, soaked over him, replacing the dry haze of dirt with the new blurriness of watery eyes.  
Gasping, Bully eventually came looming over him. Gus was too late to hold a breath before Bully had the watering contraption forced over him.  
"Keep him down," Bully snarled.  
Water flooded Gus' every senses. Limbs disappeared. Time intensified.  
"Pus, Pus, Pus!" Glorified Bully, but his words weren't heard by anyone but himself as his oafs retreated nervously. One hurriedly left Bully, the other cried 'stop'.  
"Shut it Del," said Bully in reply.  
Unrestrained, Gus flung out a hand from the jet that engulfed him – a gust of force took Bully upwards, flinging him yards across the field. Del stumbled also, meeting the ground with his backside. The watering contraption sprung back into its rotating routine.  
Gus breathed deeply as Bully rose bewildered, making towards Gus.  
"No!" Bellowed Gus, his arm juddering outwards to carry another wind-filled blast that pushed into Bully, taking his feet from under him once more. A fizzle of sparks sputtered between Gus' fingers.  
Bully looked about him and found himself alone with this newly different, strange boy. He ran as fast as his fat legs could carry him, as Gus sat in awe under the occasional spray of the waterer, eyeing his hands.

A lengthy shadow spread over Gus and he looked up to find a woman standing. A pistol sat within a holster at her waist.  
"Boy," said the woman, "drink this." She handed a flask to him from which Gus took a sip. Liquid dripped down his chin. It tasted of barely anything at all.  
"Why'd ya confront them like you did?" She questioned.  
Gus looked up at her, startled at the realisation of what she'd said. When he didn't answer her, she asked for his name.  
"Gus," said the young boy, and there was a quiet moment between them both.  
The woman gave a gentle laugh through smiling lips, "Perhaps we should be calling you _Gust_ from now on." She pulled out a hand to retrieve her flask but Gus reached out to pull himself up instead, which she appreciated, softly laughing once more.  
"Will you come with me Gust. I know a particular…elementalist you should see."  
With strength and wonderment, Gus brushed himself down, taking a swig from the flask before handing it back.

…

Reminded of thirst, he reached for a flask at his side and took a swig, before reading the ticket aloud:

" 'Took I a long time to get made. Last thing to be right. – Deldo.' "

He tore gently into the package to reveal a red garment. Holding it out in length, his grin returned to him broader than ever, as stitched in white lettering was the word 'Gust'.  
Stretching out his arm, Gus Windbourne wrapped the gift around and secured it.

_2_

Festivities from the main streets echoed far into the smaller walkways within Divinty's Reach. Bunting draped over housings and shops that lined the streets, and confetti littered into the walkways beyond.  
A mother opened a heavy door before her son had any chance to reach its knocker; Gus spread his arms as Mother entered the doorway, before allowing them to fall, slapping at his side. He smiled broadly, and they met each other tightly.  
Patting Gus a number of times across his back, the mother laughed heartedly, "Welcome home son!"  
"Has been an adventurous three months, Ma."  
"Hungry?" Mother gestured inside proudly.  
"Thirsty," replied Gus, showing the empty flask at his side.  
"Gus," the woman gave a frown of motherly concern before moving him inside, pushing closed the heavy door, and pulling open a chair. She then hurried off into an adjoining room.  
Gus removed satchels and straps, found his place in the chair and slouched deeply within its frame. He looked about him, breathed in deep and stretched his hands across a solid oak table in front of him. Then, a groove in the table caught his fingers, and his breath…

…

Unkempt hair bothered the boy's eyes as he etched into solid oak with a blunt poniard.  
"Gus?" Came his mother's voice, and he looked to her, palming the dagger.  
"Going out!" Gus insisted.  
"Gus..!" His mother quivered after him, managing two steps of the staircase before the heavy front door clunk shut with a gust of wind. She pursed her lips, took a breath and looked out from a skylight within the space above the stairs, clasping together her hands.

…

A tall glass of apple juice came down upon the table, which stirred him, and was followed by a bowl of leaves and vegetables garnished with oil, a plate of bread, and a chunk of cheese.  
Gus leant forwards for the bowl but Mother quickly moved the tall glass in front of him. With a smirk, Gus emptied it in one.  
Mother glanced to the groove before taking the empty glass and heading once more to the adjoining room.  
"You know I managed to hide that from Pappa for many weeks using table cloths and plates… but all along he knew," Mother chortled, adding, "You really were an angry teen."  
Gus grinned; a lettuce leaf dangled from his mouth, which he rolled up with his tongue before swallowing largely. The tall glass made its way back onto the table complete with more apple juice and a fork.  
"You travelled well? I was worried for you what with all these bandits. You may well be able to throw bolts of lightning at them but that doesn't make you invincible.  
"No bandits, Ma." Came muffled words between cheese and potato.  
Unsmiling, Mother followed to say, "Centaurs are threatening settlements outside the city. There are even rumours that they have attacked villagers around Kessex."  
She placed a hand onto her son's arm, "What did she tell you of them?"  
Gus stopped gnashing, swallowed and took a small drink from the juice, "I never knew. She…she told me nothing of centaurs."  
"Then what?" Mother questioned.  
Gus skewered cheese and vegetables onto his fork and took a piece of bread before setting them down on the plate in front of him.  
"Something dark. A devastation," he paused, "she had news of why the Norn were moving south. Lots of rumours." He then turned to face his mother, "She told me it was important for me to find out – see it with my own eyes."  
"More adventuring, Son?" Mother said with a half-smile.  
"It's not just that, Ma," Gus said as he collected the folk and bread, "helping keep the bandits at bay during the day, then serving drinks at night in some sleepy bar in town…they just don't go together." Gus looked up through the skylight above the stairs, "It's time I went out and saw Tyria."  
With a moment of realisation, Gus's mother shot up and patted him on the shoulder, "I'm forgetting!" She informed and hurried upstairs.  
Gus knew it must be a gift for him. Thinking of past gifts he had received from his folks, his mind fell on one last such gift, from his father: the dagger at his side…

…

With a swipe of fury, Gus discarded his poniard to the dusty debris of the cavern floor.  
"You are not expressing it, young Windbourne," told the confident voice of a woman sitting on her heels; her hands placed loosely within her lap, "Fire comes from somewhere else within you and you must find it not with anger, but with calmness." .  
Gus directed eyes to the floor, focused on the pleasant smell of fresh water, and brought forth a geyser up through the cavern's dry dust. He dove scorched fingers into it, soothing them briefly before the geyser splashed away uncontrolled, soaking downwards.  
With little thought, Gus flew out arms. Fizzles of flame floundered. He kicked the dirt, which blew backwards into his face.  
The woman rose and walked outside from the cavern as Gus coughed and spat out grit.  
Orange covered the horizon. The woman stood gazing outwards. A breeze played with the ends of her long grey hair. She ran a hand through it as Gus came to stand beside her, his lanky lumbering came just short of the woman's upright stature.  
"My father…"  
"I know," said the woman. She folded her arms, continuing to gaze outwards, "It's hurtful and nothing can stop it from happening. And I understand that entirely." She paused for such a long time that Gus felt awkward, before adding, rhetorically, "Do you know how you got the burns on your arm."  
Gus frowned, puzzled, and kept quiet.  
"Fire isn't easy to control. It can harm you like no other element will."  
Gus looked to his scorched fingers, "I know," he said, and the woman looked at him.  
"You are resistant to utilising it. Unknowingly fearful, and angry of the power that is part of you, because it has harmed you grievously in your past."  
Gus scuffed at the dirt and mumbled mostly to himself, "Why is air so easy?"  
"Young Windbourne, your name is not a coincidence. Attuning with air is in your family line. As are all the elements."  
The woman unfolded her arms, returned her gaze to the land below and let out a sigh, "It is my regret that I know not more of the Windbournes."  
Confidently Gus retorted, "I don't need to know more of those who abandoned me," before adding ashamed, "I must go home. I…sort of ran out before."  
Squeezing Gus by the shoulder, the woman spoke a thoughtful word, "It is important for a tree to know of its roots, if it is to grow."

…

"Now this is important!" exclaimed Mother as she squeezed Gus' shoulder and landed a brightly wrapped gift into his chest.  
"Ma," Gus chuckled, and began to release the folds of the wrapping. From inside he retrieved a thin foldable pewter case, which he found as he pulled open the clasp, held a photo of his folks holding a baby boy between them.  
"Knew you'd be off again," said Mother, who took in a noticeable breath before smiling.  
"Thanks Ma, it's wonderful."  
Gus took in the scene of photo as his mother told him to eat up, while she ran him a bath.  
As he chewed on another piece of bread, the sound of running water and steam slowly pulled him away from the photo in front of him; a sounding splash-fizz from bath salts tore him from it entirely…

…

The heavy door swung loosely into an empty room. Sounds of running water and steam came from upstairs, and as Gus closed the door gingerly behind him, a splash-fizz sounded too.  
Gus reached the first step of the stair before hearing his father croak, "Hello Son."  
The man supported himself at the doorway, sweat glistened in his beard. Clearing his throat, the tired man left the door open as he found a chair at the table. Settled, he grinned at his son, "I snuck out while your mother ran a bath," adding after a nod to the other side of the table, "I see you've taken up an interest in carving."  
Gus stepped down from the bottom step of the stair, "Papa…"  
His father rubbed an arm across his forehead, "You are gonna need something better than that blunt letter opener."  
Lifting a flap that covered a large pocket in his coat, the father removed an item wrapped in leather and placed it on the table.  
Gus dropped his shoulders, came to the item and collected it.  
"Well?" His father mused.  
Gus smiled excitedly as he unravelled a dagger from its holder. The blade bore the markings of folded steel; the handle strong, enriched with a comfortable wove.  
A tear came and Gus hugged his father to hide it. The man chuckled through a cough and hugged his son in return.

…

Gus rolled the dagger across his hands as his mother interrupted his thoughts.  
"Seeing Petra," she told in question form.  
Gus replied, "Yeah Ma, of course. Tomorrow I will. Right now I will really appreciate that bath."  
His mother sat beside him and squeezed his arm, "It's good to have you home Son."  
Gus placed the dagger onto the table, "It's good to be back, Ma."

ment here...


	2. The Coming Home Chapter - final part (3)

Gus' lips shortened across rosy cheeks as his eyes took a squint of sunlight from the blue above. He hiccupped comically. Leaving the district, his feet ached a rosiness of themselves, and he knew that his recent days of rest had given them renewed feeling.  
Continuing through the city, he came to a guard box, and passed it with a genial straightening. The Seraph guard wasn't looking at passers-by, but was sleepily within thought.  
With a leg slung over the side, Gus seated on the large high walkway over-looking the Weston Commons, where he waited, occasionally peering up at the sun or looking down into its shadows.  
When a deep roughish laughter chuckled out behind him, Gus smiled and crooked his head.  
"Gust!" Yelled the bearded man, whose large dolyak sized shoulders raised with the spread of his arms.  
Gus shifted to view him. The man had his helm in his hand; a long sword harnessed sturdily on his back featured a wing motif.  
"I thought I'd find you first Del," Gus spoke as he thumbed the view behind him.  
"Hey, I'm Seraph. You know I spot you before you spot me eh," Del spoke loudly before adding in a whisper: "Oh hey, you've been drinking."  
Gus move away the lower part of his coat and poked at a flask of clear liquor.  
"Ah ha! Let's stretch our legs huh," told Delroy, nodding over to the giant set of thick wooden doors that opened to the homes and farmlands outside of Divinity's Reach.  
The two men patted each other across the back and made their way together.

…

Standing solidary, Gus Windbourne took a short breath as he saw the group of Seraph soldiers around him broaden. As one glanced his way, Gus eyed the giant set of thick wooden doors ahead of him. They opened loudly.  
A whooping came from someplace in the crowd; in other places, only silence. The unit moved forward, so Gus put one foot in front of the other. As the gate's dramatics diminished behind him, the fields of Shaemoor revealed in their vastness as the ranks spread. It was then Gus saw the Seraph captain that was to lead his group, and inform him, indirectly, that the oaf who'd bullied his younger years, was to battle along side him this day.  
Delroy snorted in annoyance.

…

Del snorted a laugh and split his drink, "Think you got back in time, Gus - may have centaur bodies to wade through the way things are going."  
"Ma said…" Gus pondered in realisation.  
"I don't want to know, interjected Del between swigs, "there's enough to think about with Separatists and now what looks like an attack from centaurs. The captain feels a change.  
"Perhaps centaurs have something to do with it after all. Maybe this is just the start…whatever it is Del, something dark is coming. She didn't tell me much, but that was clear.  
Del paused his drinking, "Dragons..?  
"Dragons?" Gus returned.  
"They are real. Half of the Norn want to prove themselves against dragon invasion."  
Gus rubbed his chin with the back of his hand, "Ain't dragons a myth?"  
"Ah I don't know, Del spoke into the bottle before drinking away his words, "so much is changing.

…

"Sir," called a soldier, and his captain spun around; a parchment in hand. The two exchanged messages before the soldier moved into the ranks of Gus' group. Each Seraph here carried a fine sword or bow; each volunteer carried their own accompaniment. Gus pressed his palm into the hilt of his father's dagger. The captain motioned and they advanced.  
After a march, it was clear his group was to take a flanking approach through the top area of a cavernous system of earthy tunnels. Gus thought of his elements as he brushed athwart the close sides, two Seraph ahead of him jumped downwards finding easier footing, which gave space for others to move into. It was here Gus saw himself clambering right next to Delroy the bully. Gus hunched his shoulders and fixed eyes ahead. Delroy's own eyes shot to and fro to the back of Gus' head before dropping to the floor.  
Ahead the captain's arm shot forwards and a rush came to those behind him, which sent a wave all the way down the group. Gus saw Delroy pass him, along with all the others. He realised he had been at a half-run, and as he looked behind him found he was the last man.  
Into view the battle had already fiercely started. The captain and Seraph were into the fray, surprising the enemy as they did. Death had come. At the sight of it, Gus dropped a jaw. An arrow whizzed and embedded itself into rock at head height. A second later Gus took sight of it, spun and pushed himself into the hard cave dirt. A hand held across his skull. Sounds of a woman painfully struck sent Gus forwards to look over an edge to the melee below. He immediately rose onto knees and casted a coalescing fire above an enemy's head which took it's concentration before it extinguished. However it gave enough time for the woman to cut the enemy open. What lay groaning was the dying figure of an ogre.  
Another arrow took flight and pinged around him somewhere. Taking footing he clenched a fist and briefly closed his eyes. An oscillating bubble surrounded him in time for a different arrow to bounce from it. Gus saw it land and found it's owner as an ogre pulled another one into the air. Gus flinched, the arrow stung and the shield faded. Uninjured Gus shot his hand forwards and out and opened up a flaming burst of fire into his opponent, engulfing it. A man speared and twisted a fork until it screamed no more.

The enemy lessened into retreat. Gus threw flaming bursts after them as they fought through the group that had flanked them. Across their way a Seraph went down; beside her was Delroy, now left wounded by one ogre full of rage, swinging a large spiked club. Gus jolted into action as the ogre saw its opportunity – Delroy was trapped between a small place and a large anger. Gus saw a long distance. Air bellowed up from beneath him him. The ogre spat sounds as it swung its club upwards. Gus gasped a lung full of breath and sparks jutted from the tips of his body's angles. With steps no longer grounded he disperse into the brightness of lightning. The ogre turned; a flash in its eyes. With a crash of stun, both Gus and ogre fell away within wind.  
Gus sat back onto his hands, astonished, seeing the ogre lay awkward, and motionless, before eyeing Delroy, who grinned back at him; a pistol hung from his fingers. A shout went forth from a captain as he planted a banner firmly among the fallen of the cave.

…

"Your journey's not over so quickly, Gus?" Del grinned.  
Snapped away from thought Gus replied, "she said time could be short, and that I should find myself. I've been wanting to get away. It's time I did."  
"Yep."  
They sat calmly with Del finishing the liquor, before Gus spoke his decision, "A month, then I head to Lion's Arch."  
Del threw him a glance, "Could be centaur trouble here within that time, but then what am I to say…you could outrun a centaur."  
The two of them grimaced.


	3. The Chapter of the Unwritten (4)

**The Chapter of the Unwritten**

_4_

A reflective examination of the rooftops, walls, cracks and wear of the city's streets was how Gus spent an hour of his morning. A morning that cursorily coiled away as the afternoon sprung into it. Grey deepened in the sky and the wind blew rain to his face. He looked for the sun briefly before glancing in the direction of his mother's home. Within his belly, he felt the groggy remains of his drinking the night before. It had kept him from breakfast, but with an understanding of the journey ahead, Gus followed the nearby smells of baked bread, imagining someplace warm and dry.

Drops waterfall from a canopy above as Gus sat on a wooden stall, at a wooden table, looking rather wooden himself. An old lady came to him with bread and broth and Gus said his thank-you.

The bowl in front of Gus now lay empty, but his belly was filled with the indigestible feeling of guilt. His eyes moved freely among the people of Divinity's Reach, as his body sat in stillness. Distantly, a flash lit up dark blue clouds, and in a flash of decisiveness Gus rolled the wooden stall out from under him as a roll of thunder sounded.

The gate to the city, which was all but closed, loomed over Gus in the darkening storm. A scattering of people came through. They weren't the first Gus had seen running to shelter, as he briskly walked the pavements that lead to the beginning of his journey.  
The guard houses were empty, and Gus heard a faintness of disturbance as he approached the gate's opening. Moving through, he saw a group of villagers huddled behind a home. A fire blazed into a rooftop nearby and for a second, during a strike of lightening, you could see a look of presumé across Gus' face, all before a Seraph yelled his way: "You, get these villagers to the inn!"


	4. The Chapter of the Unwritten (5)

5

Gus' face dropped. A man brushed passed him hurriedly towards the huddled villagers, and Gus turned. The huge gate behind him stood ridged; closed. The heat from the rooftop fire slowly thawed a chill down his spine, to bring Gus away from stillness. He followed after the man and the villagers, who bundled down the central road between the houses. There they were confronted, within a leaping bound, from the hoofed and tailed menace of a centaur warrior, who slid in one brief uncontrolled collision of legs as it landed in front of them. Recovering, it raised a bow above its plate armour, snorting fiercely.  
The man drew his arms wide and circled his group around, diverting them from the ending road. Gus clenched a hand around his dagger as he drew it in front of him, throwing reams of lightening at the centaur. Ends of the white fire sparked pain at it as it thrashed the bow about, attempting to block. Soon it galloped away. Gus followed it with eyes and warding. He turned around once, watching fire burn into rooftops, lightening crack into sky, and what few people remained, flee into safety.  
Gus ran along the road until it opened up into the small market square he'd seen countless times within his years. The flowered bridge that led out from the village to the fields of Shaemour was alight with a shielding fire, contained to barricade a vulnerable entrance.  
A bustle sounded to his side and Gus could see that the villagers, shepherd by their hero, had made their way to the inn, where a Seraph opened its door. The timing was close: a group of centaurs ran into the square carrying fire and swords, eager to get inside. Gus threw a line of blaze across the entrance, before he spun his dagger in a quick circular motion, conjuring a ring of flame around them all. With no hesitation he followed that by thrusting his blade upwards and brought a large, flaming fang above their heads. In the confusion of gulfing flame, the fang landed devastatingly upon all but one of the group, for this one now charged towards Gus.  
Rolling to one side, Gus evaded the centaur's wrath, loosing his dagger within the wet of a deep puddle. The horse-man skidded and stopped fast. Then sighted the billowing smoulder of its burning tail.  
Spinning in an frantic attempt to put it out, with Gus sprawled blindingly searching for his father's gift, the villager's shepherd heroically returned and tackled the centaur within surprise.  
Whatever attack had taken place, Gus knew nothing other than the shortness of it; the enemy lay in a heap of hoofs, and Gus was reunited with his keepsake.  
A Seraph, unflinching in her task came belting to the inn's door. Gus overheard her bellowing directives, understanding that Captain Thackery needed soldiers to the garrison.

Gus sidestepped the bodies that war had dumped in his path. With not a human among them, it was clear who held the strongest position as he approached the garrison, and the rear gate opened as the last of a centaur siege came to a close.  
Inside, Seraph stretched bows and poised over defences lined along the tall walls of the rampart. A small prison caged a pack of centaurs, who hounded with their eyes at every human present. A shout came forth through the thickness of dark, fire and troops; a stampede of centaurs battled their way at the other end of the garrison.  
Captain Thackery ordered Seraph into formation, and from behind the protection of a strong line, Gus reached spells across at the falling four-legs. As fierce as they came however, it wasn't long before the captain had them in a calculated retreat.  
A banner was pushed into the ground at the very front of the line, where it pulsed a powerful invigorating charm. Captain Thackery shot out an arm and an order. From the wide bridge that gave access over the moat surrounding them, came a single confident centaur. A belt of rocks circled the air around it like a shield. It angered threats towards the captain as it tackled the Seraph that went out to fight it. In a quick thrust of force, a shockwave knocked the Seraph outwards, felling them from the entirety of the bridge.  
"Pitiful humans. You think you can defeat me?" The Centaur sage spat before storming away.  
Its words sounded ridiculously spun from a child's adventure book, and the look on Thacker's face reflected this, but as a few Seraph ran after it, the captain motioned for pursuit in defence of more fallen comrades.  
With a swiftly air of confidence, brave Seraph and villagers alike ran onwards, holding up weapons and mustering a battle. Among them was Hero, the shepherd; the good-doer; the lifesaver. Gus Windbourne took a longer stride.  
Ahead, the centaur sage jabbed a sceptre to the skies and shards of jagged rocks broke out from the ground around it. Soldiers ahead toppled over themselves. The sage spoke loud, but through the crash of thunder, Gus heard nothing of words, only tone. Then, summoned from a power unknown to him, came earthen, skeletal hands erupting in enormousness in front of his eyes. As if reaching into the storm itself, they launched house-sized chunks of earth upwards, along with anything else that was nearby. Speaking a word, Thackery snapped people from their dazed awe. The fight to defeat the threat started.  
The approach was beset by the whirl of pelting debris. Shouts were unheard; swiped viciously away into storm-wind. Through the blur, Gus saw magic and weapons strike at the fleshless hands; he fought in unison, drawing fire from the motions of his dagger. Someone fell into him and he stumbled. He reached out to support whoever may be hurt, but found no one. Then a leafy branch smacked him hard in the face, and as he recovered he saw that the tornado of chaos had removed his comrades to nothing more than silhouettes.  
A shielding arc glimmered across from him, and Gus took a breath as he crouched. He rubbed grit from his eyes before leaning forwards beginning to rise, only to be turned about from a rocky blow to his shoulder. An angry earth elemental stood unmovable among the tempest. Unsteadily, Gus fled quickly to one side and it wasn't long before the creature disappeared from view. Confounded, he continued to flee and was helped, in no small part, by the explosive demise of the summoned entity that forced Gus from his feet and sent him the longest, frightening hurtling he'd never imagined.  
He didn't see the ground, passed out, and felt nothing.


	5. The Chapter of the Unwritten (6)

_No wind. No sound. No soft green ground…_

Nothing faded in. Nor did it abruptly start. It is as it always was. Something from nothing. Falling downwards. What comes up, must surely come back down again?

Gus Windbourne felt as though he wasn't falling at all, but knew he was. Knowing how he knew would not have made sense to you or I, but he did know. And didn't regard it as much anyway. Opposite him, stone-faced, a rock elemental sat with legs crossed, watching him with unmoveable eyes. Gus mouthed something invisible, soundless, looking upwards as though his words had been left behind. He then spoke into cupped hands and threw them outwards towards the rock. They both continued to sit in silence.

Something tapped him on the shoulder. Gus turned to see a set of bony hands at the ends of bony arms, unreachable from him. They were folded. A single finger tapping in disapproval. Gus opened his mouth briefly, before remembering the silence.

A glint beneath him brought Gus head first, as he rolled over himself to squint and peer and strain. Something was down there…

Abruptly – not fading in at all, a roaring wind filled everything the silence had made whole. Gus fell fast. His two accompanies leaving him as they disintegrated upwards. Fear beset him. The glint expanded into his eyes. He could feel grass and dirt.

Nothing faded out.

…

A high sun glinted through the opening in Gus' eyes. His pupils had been used to it for quite some time, but not his waking mind, and so he shifted limbs frantically within a fearful moment of memory, before calming into reality.

Gus sat cradling an arm, having clambered up through the remains of a broken cart. Hay scratched inside his clothing. He stretched out fingers and wiggled a thumb, then winced as he gently closed them all into a fist. Nothing about him seemed snapped or wrenched, only bruised, sprained and cut. Dry blood crusted over his face and a wound bled slowly from his neck.

Taking time within the peacefulness of solidarity; the good feeling of justness, and the healing warmth of the sun, he searched about himself, finding part of his clothing frayed, his backpack intact, and his stash of coins secure. He already knew his dagger was missing, and was keeping but a little hope for finding it.

Shaken by death but strengthened by life, Gus rose sickly, swayed, and straightened. Motioning to the ground, a seeping of water darkened the soil there. He looked to his hand, imagined the rush of a geyser and tried again. This time water concaved over itself in flowing waves. Gus walked into it, soaked his clothes and drove his face through its centre. Flesh wounds disappeared through regeneration.

With his last effort to find his heirloom over, Gus trundled back towards the heap of hay that now lay away from the broken cart. The sun had begun its sleepy melt into its earthen bed, and Gus knew exactly where he'd spend the remainder of its company. Having ventured to a viewpoint of the surroundings, Gus could see the distant garrison he'd defended. Tonight he would build a fire from the wood of the broken cart; eat from the supplies in his backpack, and sleep upon the pile of hay.

Tomorrow would come unhurried.


	6. The Chapter of the Unwritten (7)

The night was dark, the fire out, and Gus awake. Pain from his arm distracted him from the dull thuds and crisp scraping sounds that had woken him, but as they continued, Gus began to picture more from his hearing than his eyes ever could within the black. What he saw was an ettin.  
Gus felt around until he found the cornered part of the cart he sheltered under. He shuffled on his belly and wedged his legs into the tightness of a small section, before taking fistfuls of hay to stuff about himself. He lay silently. In silence. He fell asleep.

Gus woke to the prickling of damp hay, a pang of pain from a stretched arm, and a double sounding of snoring. His eyes opened and he rose on the palms of his hands; a strand of hay poking into the gape of his mouth. He listened upwards until his palms ached under him.  
Slowly moving the covering from his exit and easing out his legs, he kneeled and peeked over the outward edge of the cart. There, hunched over itself, with heads loose and mouths dripping saliva, was the loud sleeping of an ettin.  
Beads of moisture flattered across his jawline as Gus met the cool morning's mist that had settled upon the cart's remaining planks. The wetness reformed and peeked over his up-facing chin, where it rolled freely down his neck. He immediately rubbed a shoulder into it.  
Gus moved. Collecting the backpack, he kept it hung to his side as he looked around the ground at the fire and cart fragments, before stepping a path to avoid them. As his leave of the ettin lengthened, he could see the creature held a mace of wood and stone of irregular shape. Gus took hold of the nearest sturdy plank to him and crept further away.  
Reaching the brow of a hill, Gus let his arms loosen; his sturdy plank dug into soil. He saw the slow bob of a pack bull carrying more than itself and being herded by someone just too far away to make out. Light started to begin its reign over the skies; an eagle prowled, and an ettin woke.  
Dull thuds and crisp scraping brought Gus around. Three heads looked at each other.  
"Huh?", said one of them.  
As the irregular mace lifted, Gus took a backward step and fell into a forward run down the hill's side, taking a look back only as he steadied himself at its end. Nothing predatory chased him, only inquisitiveness and confusion stood at the hill's top. And scratched an armpit.

With the backpack over his shoulder, and a long stride, Gus' last look back was some time ago. He rubbed at his ribcage where he had discovered new discomfort, and winced as he brought his arm across to do so. As the backpack's weight pressed achingly downwards, Gus slowed and sighed. He dropped the plank and shuffled the pack evenly onto two shoulders. He breathed fully, took sight of the plank, and smiled with a roll of his eyes, before leaving it behind.


	7. The Chapter of the Unwritten (8)

The green hills and golden farmlands of Queensdale filled Gus' morning with a familiar edge of adventure; now his recent travelling, before his imaginings in childhood. Gus placed the memories of homely comforts at the front of his mind. Although a sense of boding snaked through them.  
Gus tightened a strap on his backpack as he listened to the conversation between a Seraph and another man. He began loosening it as the talks of centaurs arose, where tribal names and distant places mentioned, were of which he recalled but meant something different to him now. They were no longer history and geography, they were real and part of these moments ahead of him.  
There was nothing to keep a man within the walkthrough of the gate Gus currently crouched within, and these Seraph were stationed at. He swooped the backpack up and strode onwards.  
Out the other side, closed tents appeared empty and an elderly man worked to flatten the ground of a large pit. Faint recollects of a festival held here seemed to hold some value, but as Gus made a brief reconcile, he rubbed his eyes between the pinch of his thumb and forefinger, then shielded them as he searched for the sun. His gaze moved in a downwards curve until mountains slowed it, and two centaurs froze it.  
The two guarded an encampment housed within a cave system, which was so audaciously close to the gate outpost that Seraph and centaur alike could shout unneighbourly greetings throughout the day.  
Gus' legs kept moving; a years-old dirt path guided them, but as the centaur guards scuffed a hoof in a half-step advance, Gus scuffed his own. He steadied himself and shot a look back in fear of their movements. He felt the empty holder at his hip, as one of the centaurs set an arrow into its bow. Seraph saw it all from the outpost, where they showed steel and took their own steps.  
The centaurs grinned balefully, took back their half-step and joined each other in jape. One Seraph struck a finger out and across, telling the lone traveller to follow the dirt path southeast, which Gus intended not to falter from. He tried not to look hurried.

Gus hurried along the path, at times skipping into a run between sightings of centaurs and Seraph, of which either wore armour and held instruments to weaponise. With the sky full of blue and yellow; the air spring with freshness, and fern trees softly growing, these days were perfect for peace, although weathered for war.  
Gus puffed out breaths and wiped around his forehead with the back of a sleeve, slowing as a surrounding of stone walls that housed what could only be a settlement of villagers, came into view up on a terrace in front. The path forked and the fern trees parted with it.  
Curving around a side of the terrace were long fields of young vegetables. Gus pursed his lips and nodded slightly as he eyed them. Moving through a sturdy double door gate, the two Seraph guards at either side showed no interest to the traveller, and plenty to the lands outside. Gus noticed.  
He also noticed the number of soldiers present and the group of villagers collecting belongings from their homes. Gus cooled in the shadow of one such pastel-coloured home, lifting his backpack away from the wet that soaked his shirt. He fanned it for some seconds before rubbing the injured arm and swapping hands. He rolled his tongue around the dry inside of his mouth, then reached for one of three canisters of water pocketed to the outside of the backpack. He then took slow bites from a square of oats and nuts glued together by honey, which he returned to a different pocket; packed away in time to be readied by the joint holler of watchful men.  
The double doors behind him were slammed and bolted, followed by another set that used to exit to the north. Archers moved to makeshift lookouts, and a captain gave an order.  
Running towards the group of villagers, a Seraph placed on a helmet awkwardly as he held a shield between a forearm and his body, and a sword in the hand of the same arm.  
"We're moving now, right away, an attack is imminent," he rushed without waiting for objections or followers. As a scattering of arrows embedded into the villager's houses, he got neither as the people ducked cowardly. But as panic prevailed they soon ran to the cover of the open, for the southern gate offered their freedom.  
An old man tugged at Gus' elbow, "Come on son!" His brow creased and he pulled away with a bundle bobbing at his thigh; attached was an old rifle.  
Gus looked to the Seraph archers who stung arrows beneath them. A line of swords and shields faced the north and west gates. Something exploded and one line squiggled in its wake. The north gate had splintered and each door fell open from its hinges. Centaurs trampled the line in two.  
The archers no longer stood. The ground shook with another explosion. Gus had taken steps backwards. A centaur broke loose and raised a bow and arrow at him. A sword spun once through the air and sliced into its body, which Gus never saw as he huddled under his arms. He found himself there and gasped, before turning away and pelting to the exit from mayhem.

Distantly, dull smoke dissipated from the terrace. A tribe of four-legs stood easy upon the tops of makeshift lookouts.  
Exhausted, the fleeing villagers stretched off along a dirt path. Gus passed them. What he knew to be a large human settlement lay further east.


End file.
